Thirteen — Writing Prompt #2: 100 Years

White Hot

Time stood still when I walked in

Just for a second and no one else noticed

but I did.

but you did.

it felt like one hundred years could have flown by outside our gaze — we spoke about that sometimes.

We wouldn’t have noticed that but i noticed the way i could always find your hand in my sleep

if we slept.

I’m convinced one of the reasons we never slept too much is because we both knew this fire was fleeting, our collision and eventual evaporation predestined by all of the ways we block ourselves from happiness and we wanted to drink each other quickly because we were both so thirsty but would tire of the taste in one hundred moments.

i could list for you those moments, the way your eyes told me love stories about us, how your skin goosebumped when i ran my nails through your hair, every single thing you said:

  1. but what good
  2. would it do?